I don’t want to forget
the taste of your tongue against mine.
I want to remember
your rough cheek,
your hard hands as they carry me backwards
to your bed.
I want to visualize
your head on my lap,
my fingers in your hair,
and I know it’s all just imaginary,
just fantastic moments where you were mine
and the rest of the world was so far away.
It was you and me
and hot showers and cold evenings
and my head buried in your chest.
It was old books and older records,
stories of when we were young,
and your face clutched in my hands.
How do I forget something I want so much?
I can still smell you sometimes,
taste you on my own breath,
and it hurts,
aches to know
I won’t feel your arms again.